“Reece has been through a lot. She knows about complicated situations.”
“I got that sense.” Leigh took another bite, chewed thoughtfully. “Billie gave me a whole lecture about not overthinking things. Said I should just enjoy what we have instead of worrying about what comes next.”
“Smart woman. I always liked Billie.”
“They all seem to think this temporary thing isn’t going to work out the way we planned.”
I set down my sandwich, suddenly less hungry. “What do you think?”
She was quiet for a long moment, staring at her coffee cup like it held answers. “I think... I think they might be right. That thisis already more complicated than we thought it would be and it’s barely been twenty four hours.”
“Complicated how?”
“Complicated like...” She looked up at me, and there was something vulnerable in her expression. “Like I was supposed to be able to keep this casual. To enjoy the summer and then go back to my life like nothing happened. But I don’t think I can do that anymore.”
My heart started pounding. “What are you saying?”
“I’m saying this doesn’t feel casual. It feels like... like something more. Something important.” She reached across the table, laced her fingers through mine. “And that scares me.”
“It scares me too.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.” I squeezed her hand. “But maybe that’s okay. Maybe being scared means it matters.”
“Does it matter? To you?”
I looked at her, really looked at her. At the hope and fear warring in her eyes. At the way she was holding her breath waiting for my answer. We were both in deep here, but I think we’d also both known that before we even agreed to start.
“Yeah, Leigh. It matters. You matter.”
She exhaled, something like relief crossing her face. “So what do we do?”
“What do you want to do?”
“I don’t know.” She laughed, but it was shaky. “I don’t want to think about August. I don’t want to think about leaving or logistics or how this could possibly work. I just want to have today.”
“Then let’s have today. We can worry about everything else later.”
“Later,” she repeated. “I like the sound of that.”
We finished eating, talking about easier things. Normal conversations. Easy. But underneath it all was an awareness that this thing between us was growing into something we couldn’t control.
And neither of us seemed to want to stop it.
After lunch, we migrated to the living room. I’d meant for us to watch a movie or something, but we ended up on the couch, her tucked against my side, my arm around her shoulders, just talking.
She told me about growing up in Blue Point Bay, about being the only child and spending so much time at her cousins’ house that sometimes she’d forget she wasn’t actually part of their family. About feeling like the cousin who was always welcome but never quite belonged.
“So how’s it going?” I asked, gently broaching the subject she seemed to be avoiding. “Living at Jasper’s?”
She made a noncommittal sound, suddenly very interested in her cuticles and then a loose thread hanging from the hem of her sweater.
“Leigh?”
“It’s fine. The house is nice. Mom seems happy.”
“But?”
